


No longer beautiful

by JenniferHawke



Series: Written in Starlight [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age II Quest - A Bitter Pill, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tasteful Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferHawke/pseuds/JenniferHawke
Summary: “We don’t have to do this Fenris. Not if you’re not ready. I’ll wait for you, as long as it takes.” Oh, but how he aches for her. A look at what transpires directly after ‘A bitter pill’. Inspired by a lovely review from the ever so talented Lethendralis. Part two of the Written in Starlight series.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Series: Written in Starlight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567765
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	No longer beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: discussions of past abuse (canon to what is said in game). I wrote this for the Tumblr community ... yes, I am on Tumblr now (same name as here). I may post more little Fenris drabbles and one shots there than what you see here, so if you'd like to see more frequent Fenris musings, be sure to give me a follow :) Don't worry, I am still hard at work on Lyrium & Lace. Sometimes I just need a change of pace to keep myself from getting writer's block.

He came to apologize, he never meant for any of _ this _ to happen.

Waiting in the alcove of Hawke’s manor, Fenris’ stomach churns with regret. Seeing Hadriana again left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ending her miserable existence did nothing to calm his ire – the opposite in fact. For years, he’d imagined it, dreamed of the thrill of feeling the beating of her heart in his hands as it faded into nothingness. He spent countless hours awake in his bed, imagining what it would feel like to watch the life drain from her eyes. But instead of satisfaction, Fenris is left with an ugliness – a hate that they planted inside of him. Today only proved that he is still far from being free. That no matter how long he’s been unchained, in the blink of an eye the shackles might reappear once more. Hadriana failed, but Danarius still lives. His nightmare would continue on, as if a never ending void waiting to swallow him whole.

But even amongst his stewing, he is fearful to hold on to a new feeling that emerges: one of hope. A sister.  _ Varania _ . Hadriana dangled the one piece of information she knew he’d been searching for. The same information the slavers used to lure him out of hiding the night he met Hawke. But instead of information on a family that might have been, instead of the details about who he was before Danarius, an empty box, a trap was what awaited him. They deceived him then. Perhaps Hadriana had lied in her final moments, hopeful that the news of a sister would still his ire. He had given her his word he would let her live, but just as the slavers used falsehoods to lure him into a trap, Fenris couldn’t allow Danarius’ star pupil to continue spreading her wretchedness like a plague. He nearly paused for the briefest of moments, Hawke’s influence, no doubt. But regret is the last thing he feels now. The world is void of one less cruel Tevinter magister. No one would mourn for Hadriana, not even Danarius. All Danarius knew was ownership, he used Hadriana as a ploy just as he used his slaves. 

Now Fenris is left with a name. Varania. _ If _ this sister exists, he will spend every meager copper to his name to find her, this much he knows. But before he can begin his search, he must face Hawke.

Anxiety chips away at his gut as he recalls the cruelty he’d hurdled at his only true friend. “What has magic touched that it hasn’t spoiled?” he’d spat, at a mage no less. And Hawke … she is unlike any mage he’s ever met. Unlike any person he’s ever met. Even with the curse of magic, it hasn’t dulled her shine like he might have once thought it might. Unlike the magisters of Tevinter, she only uses her powers when forced to, and even then she is a formidable opponent on the battlefield. Often, Fenris can smell the way her mana clings to her skin after a fight. She always smells of the air after a storm, favoring magic of the elements, lightning in particular. Her mana smells nothing of the putrid musk of blood magic, nor is it anything like the cursed spells Danarius preferred. And when she heals him of his injuries, her merciful magic feels little more than a gentle breeze on a balmy day, her mana flowing through him, entangling itself in his lyrium, a delightful tingle caressing his skin. It feels nothing of the harsh burn that always followed Danarius’ healing spells. While her use of magic once unnerved him, he has no such reservations towards Hawke. Not any more.

“Fenris?”

Hawke’s voice stirs him out of his reverie, and he nervously ambles to his feet. He’s never been good at apologizing to her, and now his stomach feels as if in a million knots. Nausea befalls him. Every time he sees her, she affects him, as if an infection spreading through his veins. But it is not an affliction he wishes to avoid, it is a pang that makes him ache for her in the most delicious of ways. They’ve danced around their flirtation for years, and in recent months it has continuously built up to the point of spilling over, to the point of becoming something more. What he feels for her is  _ dangerous _ , years of life as a slave haunting his every move, telling him it is wrong for him to want something for himself. But the more he catches himself thinking such thoughts, the more he wishes to rebel against his former nature. He is no longer a slave. And besides his freedom, Hawke is the only thing he truly wants in this world. Many times, she’s made her intentions clear. No longer is it an impossible dream, Hawke is forever within his grasp, all he need do is reach out and take it. But he has been a fool and a coward, and now, his callous words might be the very thing that ends their budding relationship before it had a true chance to flourish.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened with Hadriana. I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was … not myself. I’m sorry.”

“I had no idea where you went. I was concerned.”

Ah, but of course she was. Sweet, gentle Hawke. Whatever had he done to deserve her kindness? Again and again, he seethed with anger when dealing with mages. It would always be a sore spot between them, but despite their opposing views on magic itself, she always remained patient with him, allowing him time to cool off when his temper flared.

“I needed to be alone,” Fenris says, turning to pace uncomfortably. It is not a conversation he wishes to have, but she deserves an explanation for his unkind behaviour. So, Fenris speaks of Hadriana and of the torment he suffered under her watch. The way she denied him sleep and food, how she used her position to taunt him, knowing he was powerless to retort. Discomfort seeps into his voice as he attempts to defend his actions. Hawke is a woman of compassion. She only ever kills if put in a position where she has little choice in the matter. And Fenris? He is a trained weapon. Countless lives have been lost at his hand, and while in the past he had little to say in the matter, today he made a choice. Despite giving his word, he killed Hadriana, and would forever be tainted in Hawke’s view. 

“This hate,” he continues, voice full of distaste. “I thought I’d gotten away from it. But it dogs me wherever I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me… it was too much to bear.” Fenris lets out a heavy sigh. The more he recalls the torment of Hadriana, the more he festers inside, feeling as if the abuses of Tevinter happened but a moment ago. Reliving such memories, breathing into life what he endured … it tightens his chest and fills him with unease. He turns his back on Hawke, ready to leave … he will not let her see him like this, weak and vulnerable, like the caged animal he once was. 

“But I didn’t come to bother you further,” he says, ready to make his departure. 

In the blink of an eye, her hand grasps his arm, holding him in place. “You don’t need to leave, Fenris.” she says, but it is not her touch he feels, nor her soft, gentle voice he hears. In the moment, he is a slave once more, a powerless being, and Hawke is not Hawke, not the woman he cherishes, but the monster who tormented him for years on end. The woman he killed just hours before. The lyrium branded into his flesh reacts to his ire, glowing with the power that thrums in his veins. Usually, it is a constant dull ache, but now turns into an angry fire burning from within. Eyes narrowing with hate, he turns without a moment’s notice, backing her quickly into the hard wall. As her back connects with the unforgiving surface, a thud sounds from behind her, a puff of breath leaving her lungs, brushing against the flesh of his neck. Ever so slowly, Fenris comes to, realising it’s not Hadriana’s blue eyes that stare back at him, but those of Hawke’s … a cerulean ocean he often finds himself lost in. The blue glow of his brandings slowly diminish, eyes wide with realization of what he’s done. Hawke stares at him, unblinking, a look of surprise upon her face. His eyes widen with panic, and Fenris slowly backs away, shame and regret threatening to bury him beneath unforgiving tides.

Her kiss is the last thing he expects.

Hands suddenly resting upon his shoulders, Hawke gives the briefest of smiles before pressing her lips to his. Stunned, he is unable to move, let alone respond to the frantic dancing of her lips upon his. But he has no time for thought or rationalization as Hawke swivels them in place, mimicking his previous actions as she presses him hard against the wall. A brief gasp flows past his lips, just moments before she reconnects her mouth to his. But this time … this time Fenris responds.

Following her lead, he moves his lips against hers, hands finding purchase in the swell of her hips. As she flicks her tongue against his own, he is eager to discover her flavor. Hawke keeps her hands pressed against the wall on either side of him, and although she has him pinned in place, she leaves him room to run his hands up and down her sides. Kissing her is unlike anything he’s ever dreamed of, his thoughts paling in comparison to the gentle slide of her tongue against his own. All at once, it is too much and not enough. He yearns for her as if a man starved. He wishes to throw off his gauntlets and feel the softness of her body beneath his hands. For years, he’s suppressed his longing for her, and now, it unravels in the span of a kiss. A surprising, soul consuming kiss.

As she pulls away, he immediately misses her warmth. But then she offers him a smile so coy, and when she takes him by the hand, leading him to her chambers, he is helpless to do anything but follow.

Eager as they both are, between the two of them it takes little time for them to divest her of her clothing. Fenris unwraps her eagerly, impatient to expose her flesh to curious eyes. As she stands before him in front of the foot of her bed, bare and displayed before his eyes, he can’t help but admire her impressive form. Eyes roam over her every curve as if committing her to memory. He has longed for this moment for what seems like an eternity, but all at once eternity has become today.

Fenris slowly removes his gauntlets, allowing them to clang to the floor. As his fingers sit at the buckles at his shoulders, he gives pause. Hawke has seen glimpses of his body here and there, whenever a wound needs tending to, or when they wash off the gore from a battle at a nearby stream. But she has never truly seen him in full, and suddenly he is all too aware of the markings in his flesh, in his strange appearance that has onlookers gaping as he walks by. Her eyes soften at his hesitancy and she places a tender hand on his cheek. “We don’t have to do this Fenris. Not if you’re not ready. I’ll wait for you, as long as it takes.” Oh, but how he  _ aches _ for her. 

“No,” he says in a clipped tone. “We have waited long enough. I want this Hawke. I want  _ you _ .”

They work together, uncasping the many belts and buckles of his armour, his clothing following soon after. Eyes raking over him, a smile tugs at her lips. “Maker, but you’re  _ beautiful _ ,” she sighs softly, and in that moment, Fenris knows it to be her truth. 

He’s always hated being gawked at whilst walking amongst Hightown’s uptight nobility. Their leering eyes often remind him of his life as a slave. The way he felt when Danarius paraded him around during his elaborate dinner parties, making him serve wine in little more than a thin cloth. Fenris had been regarded as little more than a creation to be displayed, as if Danarius an artist revealing  _ his _ masterpiece to the world. That’s what he was to the magister’s. A  _ thing _ . 

But Hawke sees him for all that he is. Not just the little pieces of himself that he reveals to her companions, tiny fragments of the elf behind the steely armour. She sees all of him. With Hawke, he no longer feels like a broken thing, a beast with a hideous nature to be contained. With her, he actually feels beautiful as she says. Hawke makes him feel whole.

Soon, he is lost in her, limbs writhing among her sea of red sheets, her hair fawned out like a dark halo above her head. Fenris knows pain, he knows loss and suffering and anger. But never has he known pleasure such as this. Eagerly, he follows her lead, exploring her as she shows him what she enjoys. He takes his time in this, discovering the many ways to hear his name upon her lips, a sound he wishes to hear again and again. Laboured breathing fills the room, and Fenris is lost in her, lost in the way she feels around him, lost in how she cries his name as if it’s the only word she knows. He kisses her when he is able, when he can spare a moment to slow his movements, when he isn’t so eager to lose himself in  _ freedom _ . That’s what this is … the freedom of choice. And he chooses Hawke. The weight of his longing threatens to spill forth, for never has he known tenderness or true affection such as this. But he will not ruin the moment with weighty words. Pulling away from the kiss, he peers deep into her eyes before nuzzling his face in her neck as they move together as one. 

His peak approaches all too soon, and as he crests, he sighs her name against the soft crook of her neck. Pleasure consumes him, but only for a single moment. A bright light blooms behind closed eyes, and suddenly he  _ remembers _ .

Everything he’d ever wanted to know, everything he’d been hopelessly searching for is revealed in the span of a few seconds. He sees not the family that might have been, but the family that  _ was _ . Faces long forgotten spring to life … a flash of red hair as a sister runs by, laughter in her voice. The smile of a mother, familiar green eyes mirroring his own as she peers down and pats his head. A name on her lips … not Fenris, but his _ real _ name. But just as soon as the memory flashes behind closed eyes, it vanishes, taking everything it revealed along with it. No longer can he remember their faces, nor the name spoken just a moment before. They disappear into the depths of his mind, as if buried away in a locked box he cannot reach. Fenris wishes to scream, to call after them, but they are gone. And all he feels is emptiness.

Slowly, his eyes open, and once again, all he knows is pain and despair.

Rolling off of Hawke, he lays atop her covers, head coming to rest upon a pillow. She sighs happily, resting her head upon his chest. A short time later, the quiet sounds of her slumber fill the room. And while he should be happy to have a tender moment such as this, a pain unlike any he’s ever known consumes him, devouring his soul.

Suddenly, he needs to flee. He needs to disappear into his stolen abode. He needs to tear apart the walls, break every item that he can find.  _ They did this to him! Six years of freedom and still he bears a lifetime full of anguish. _ He needs to be alone. But first … he must do what needs to be done. He must end things with Hawke.

Quite the fool was he, to think he truly could be happy. Carefully moving off of the bed, Fenris dresses himself. When his gauntlets are secure, an act of despair grips him, and he tears away a strip of her bedsheets, a reminder of this beautiful, painful night, tying it around his wrist. With his armour around him and his sword hilted at his back, he walks to the hearth of the room, staring blankly ahead at the flames engulfing the wood within. For a moment, he wishes the flames would consume him too, for all he can feel is a deep seeded hate that never leaves for long. 

All too soon, Hawke wakes from her slumber, a teasing tone in her voice as she sees him in all his brooding.

“Was it that bad?” she asks, and he grimaces at her playful tone. Her momentary happiness would soon be replaced with hate. Or … so he hoped. It would be better if she hated him. It would be easier to walk away. But as he explains the resurfacing of his forgotten memories, as his voice trembles with the pain of his loss, she seeks to comfort him with gentle words. He is weak, and he needs to end things now before he loses the nerve to do so, instead finding solace in her loving embrace.

“It’s too much. This is too fast. I cannot … do this,” he stammers, and hopes it will be sufficient enough for her to allow him to walk away. But this is Hawke, and he would never be a simple curiosity to her. He knows to her, this was every bit as real and as marvelous and as beautiful as it was to him. And how his heart breaks knowing it will never happen again.

“We can work through this,” she pleads, her eyes desperately seeking his own,

“I’m sorry. I feel like such a fool. All I wanted was to be happy … just for a little while.” Fenris lowers his head as he sees the pain in her eyes. A pain he has caused. Turning on his heel, he lumbers towards the door. “Forgive me,” he sighs under his breath, heart lurching from the loss of his memories, at the loss of the only one he ever allowed to see him as whole.

But now Fenris knows he is still a broken thing. A beast with a hideous nature to be contained, for only a monster could break the heart of a woman as kind and as gentle as Hawke. No longer does he feel beautiful, instead he feels every bit the monster Danarius created. No longer is he whole.

* * *

The darkness of the stolen abode somehow feels unfamiliar, haunting and devoid of light. As bare feet climb the stairs, Fenris’ lungs ache, his head dizzy from intruding memories, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. As he enters the only room he uses in the large manor, it feels much colder than usual. Hawke’s room had been nothing but light and warmth and welcomed discoveries, whereas his chambers reek of longing and despair. Perhaps it was fitting that he fled to the darkness … for the void was the only thing he knew. His own darkness would only serve to taint Hawke’s light. But how he longed for it … the radiance within her always called out to him, as if the song of a siren. But unlike a siren that would lead him to an early grave, she was a safe haven for all his troubles, the balm to his aches. The only true friend he’d ever known. And he had destroyed her with his cowardice.

Closing his eyes tight, he can still smell her on his skin … recall the shimmer in eyes that shone like the night’s stars. If he tries hard enough, Fenris can feel the tickle of her breath against his neck, the euphoria of her flesh surrounding him, beckoning him for more. Forever was all at once in his grasp, so close he could taste it. But then the memories came. For the first time in his recollection, Fenris could recall home … wherever home was. At that moment he knew he indeed had a family. But just as soon as the memories came, they escaped his grasp, as if a tornado swallowing them whole. 

Gauntlets practically tear off the cork from a bottle of wine that sits atop his table. Fenris takes deep swigs, hoping the liquid will dull the pain. But it does no such thing. Instead of the tang of grapes, he tastes nothing but self loathing and hatred. Throwing the half emptied bottle, it smashes into the wall, drops of crimson splattering across the floor, the same shade as the blood of the Fog Warriors dripping from his sword. Hawke had trusted him, just as the Fog Warriors had. He hadn’t killed her, but he saw the pain in her eyes as he ended their affair … as he broke her heart.

What could a monster such as he ever offer other than pain and suffering? Fenris falls to his knees, a broken sob echoing off the walls. His chest heaves heavily, and for the first time in years, he cries for all that he’s lost … the memories he desperately wants to chase after. And for Hawke, the one thing he thought he might call his own. Fingers grasp the red favour he tore from her sheets, the only thing he has left of her. She deserves more than he can offer, but it's better this way. He is a wretched thing, and she is everything good in the world.


End file.
